


you take what is yours and ill take mine

by pragmatic



Category: The 100
Genre: Christmas AU, F/M, Secret Santa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-11
Updated: 2018-12-11
Packaged: 2019-09-16 00:59:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16944012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pragmatic/pseuds/pragmatic
Summary: Clarke isn’t Christmas’ biggest advocate, but she does love the secret santa aspect. Usually.Usually, she doesn’t have her least favourite person on earth.***Or the one where Clarke doesn’t know what to buy Bellamy





	you take what is yours and ill take mine

**Author's Note:**

> my last two fics were clarke pov and the next one im planning is also clarke pov. whatever!

Clarke was never the biggest fan of Christmas. When she was younger, her friends would spend time with their families for two weeks, and she would spend time with her Barbie Palace Additions. She was always that kid to get too many presents and made everyone feel bad when someone asked her what she got. 

She didn’t grow up going to church, so she never even learned the meaning of Christmas until she was a teenager, and by then it was already ruined.

Secret Santa, however, that wasn’t too bad.

***

_Bellamy_ : _socks_ , _cash_ , _alcohol_

She rolled her eyes, crumpling up the tiny piece of paper. Not only did she get her least favourite person in their friend group, but she also got the most boring person. Who the hell asked for socks for Christmas? She could understand being grateful to receive them, as she often was, but no one actually put them on their list.

She stuffed the crumpled paper in her pocket, doing her best not to pout. She had been hoping to get Monty, and buy him the new gaming system he’d been wanting. She’d have even taken Raven, who was notorious for being the worst to buy for—over fucking _Bellamy_.

And, okay, maybe she wasn’t giving him enough credit. He wasn’t the biggest asshole she’d ever met, but that was only because she had met some incredibly big assholes in her lifetime. He easily came in third, after her mother and her ex, Finn (she had forgiven both of them, but still.) Bellamy might not have done her wrong as personally as they had, but he had certainly been the root of many headaches since she’d known him.

How was she supposed to buy a gift for someone barely knew, let alone liked? Anytime the two of them talked, it ended in an argument without fail. The only thing she knew about Bellamy Blake was that he was a major pain in her ass.

Her scowl deepened, maybe someone would switch with her.

***

No one would switch with her. None of them even had a good reason! All their replies landed somewhere along the lines of either, _that’s_ _against_ _the_ _rules_ , or _no_ _way_ , _I_ _wanna_ _see_ _where_ _this_ _goes_.

Needless to say, her friends were dicks and she wanted new ones.

She sat down with her laptop, opening up a word document. She typed What I Know About Bellamy at the top, and started to compile a list. While this probably wouldn’t get her anywhere, it would help her feel better; lists always did.

  * likes history. rome and such
  * refuses to wear anything but button downs
  * doesn’t understand the internet, or at least pretends not to
  * likes black coffee with two sugars
  * likes taking pictures, but not posting them
  * likes arguing 



It wasn’t a long list, but it was somewhere to start, and she was going to take what she could get.

***

“My feet have been hurting since the moment we started planning this.” Raven said, climbing into the front seat and immediately slouching in a pout.

Miller reached forward to give her a noogie. “Since when is our one and only sergeant such a weakling?”

She swatted his hands away. “Since I already did my service for my country. I’m tired.”

Clarke snorted from behind the driver’s seat. “I hardly think Christmas shopping with your friends counts as helping your country.”

“It helps our economy, doesn’t it?” She fired back, turning around to stick out her tongue.

“Please,” Bellamy pleaded, gripping the steering wheel and closing his eyes. “can you put on your seatbelt so we can go already?”

“How dare you speak to a disabled person with that tone?” Raven glared. “I lost my leg for you.”

Clarke felt a little out of place, being the only one in the vehicle who hadn’t been in the army. Raven, Miller and Bellamy had all been in the same unit, forging bonds deeper than any of them could imagine. (So deep, in fact, that Clarke was sure all three of them had hooked up on more than one occasion.)

But, soon Monty and Octavia were joining them and the feeling was gone—what replaced it being much worse.

The Secret Santa Panic.

She still had no idea what she was going to get Bellamy—she refused to get him socks or alcohol, partly because she thought she could do better, and partly to spite him. So when he declared that he was going to the record store, she headed in that same direction.

Clarke hung back, and followed him into the store without letting him know that she was there. She most definitely looked like a stalker—but her desperation won out over any embarrassment she could have felt.

She noticed that there wasn’t exactly one section that Bellamy headed towards, he drifted from genre to genre, taking time to admire each and every record.

_Caress_ _one_ _more_ _cover_ , she thought. _I_ _dare_ _you_.

He seemed to finally finish, and leave the store empty handed. She wanted to smash her head against the nearest shelf—it was like he was being this difficult on purpose.

She followed him from store to store, and he bought nothing. He picked up this and that, felt a material here, asked a question there—but never made a single purchase. At the bookstore, she thought he might finally give in, but he simply sat down and began to read the book right then and there.

She growled in frustration, and stomped off to get some real shopping done.

She thought back to her list—obviously, she was going to have to do this without Bellamy’s help.

The only thing that seemed to have any merit was the one about pictures. She had followed him into the Tech Palace, maybe she could find something there.

... _But_ _not_ _posting_ _them_.

She grinned, she knew exactly what Bellamy would be receiving this year.

***

The next event of the season was the annual Christmas party—and it was Clarke’s turn to host this year.

Unfortunately, her heater was broken, first in the traditional way, and then in the exact opposite way. When she had started freezing to death in the middle of the night, she realized that it wasn’t running. Being the person that she is, she tried to fix it on her own, and the heat did turn back on—but now there was seemingly no way to turn it off. Or down, for that matter. Her apartment had turned into the Sahara desert within a few hours, and there was only so many layers of clothes she could take off before things started looking like a porn plot.

She could work with this. No one else was prepared to throw a party so last minute, so she would simply have to change the theme—it was now a tropical Christmas party. She laid out flower leis, bought coconut shaped cups for alcohol, and told everyone the dress code was a Hawaiian shirt.

Her friends went with it—they would never pass up an opportunity to get drunk, and what place better to do it than a tropical island? Nowhere. Or, that’s what Clarke repeated to herself as she sweated through every fucking shirt she owned.

“Is there a reason Satan has taken over your living area?” Luna asked upon arrival, immediately shedding her coat and gloves. She had a lovely floral sundress on and a white flower in her curly hair.

Clarke shrugged. “Punishment for something I don’t remember doing while intoxicated, probably.”

Luna sashayed her way into the kitchen, pouring herself a drink and downing it. “I’m not sure why we are all suffering with you.”

Clarke blew her a kiss, and greeted the next guests at the door.

Soon, almost everyone was there, and the stripping hadn’t ceased since they stepped through the door. Clarke herself had thrown on a lacey bralette and a white flowy skirt, and was currently seeing how many ice cubes she could shove into her cleavage.

Bellamy, as per usual, was the last to arrive at the party. He had this weird thing about finishing any marking he had before going out, there were times where he didn’t show up until the party was almost over.

“Bellamy.” She smiled. “I think the room just got a little colder upon your arrival.”

“Clarke,” He greeted, a pair of sandals dangling from his fingertips, fake joy spreading across his face. “Your sense of humour never ceases to amaze me.”

He pushed past her, grazing her chest with his own and having the audacity to _wink_ at her. As if this wasn’t her home that she very graciously invited him into, where he drank her alcohol and ate her food.

_As_ _if_ _he_ _doesn’t_ _help_ _you_ _clean_ _up_ _after_ _each_ _and_ _every_ _party_ _you_ _throw_ , a tiny, very irritating voice pointed out. She shut the door, keeping any thoughts that praised Bellamy in the hallway.

An hour later, they were still sweating, but they were much too drunk to notice. By this point, if Clarke had anymore, she was going to get sloppy; so she settled on a nice, refreshing bottle of water.

After she won the battle with the lid, her eyes began drifting around the room. Everyone seemed to be having a good time, even grumpy ass Bellamy, who was animatedly telling a story to a group on the couch.

His shirt, which was definitely buttoned when he arrived, was now decidedly not, and she found herself staring at the smooth planes of the exposed skin. Since when did he look like that? Did he always have muscle definition? Was she hallucinating right now?

Her eyes were beginning to wander, lower and lower and—

“Clarke!”

She jumped, spilling the water all over herself and the floor. Normally, this would be upsetting, but at the moment, she welcomed the ice cold splash against her skin—however brief it might have been.

Raven shook her head. “Is sloppy Clarke out to play yet? I miss her. She hasn’t been to a party in so long!”

Clarke was still staring at the floor—she should probably clean it up, even though she really didn’t want to. Someone could slip—but that would be funny. She laughed, she wouldn’t be cleaning anything up.

Raven laughed, too. “I think it’s time for some shots.”

***

There was something heavy laying on top of her, and her first thought, stupidly, was that it was a body. Of course, upon closer inspection she concluded that it was just many layers of blankets. These items alone were enough to tell her she had not gone to bed without company, and when she turned her head slightly to the left, her suspicions were confirmed.

Beside her, a glass of water and a painkiller sat on the nightstand; Bellamy had most certainly been there.

She downed the glass of water and the pill, already feeling the headache pulsing in her temples. She had a number of unread texts and missed phone calls waiting, and she happily let them.

(As she made her way into the kitchen, she realized that she wasn’t sweating, and found the heater completely functional. Which she also assumed was Bellamy.)

Her mind seemed to focus solely on him. She didn’t remember much from last night, but she did recall being handled quite gently. Not to mention what was happening underneath his clothes—how she hadn’t noticed before wasn’t only annoying, but unfair.

“Jesus, you need to get laid,” she muttered, shovelling a spoonful of cereal in her mouth.

Since when was she thirsting over Bellamy? He had been nice to her before, she always knew he was attractive, and it had never outweighed what a dick he was the rest of the time. Nothing had changed.

She called Raven, just to confirm.

“Bellamy’s attractive, right?” She asked, now munching on a bagel, the sudden increase of stress transferring into her eating habits.

Raven paused, obviously mulling the question over, given who it was from and what it concerned. “Are you asking for validation? Because I slept with him, that would have sucked if I didn’t find him attractive.”

Clarke groaned. “That’s not what I meant. I mean—he’s _nice_ , and he’s _attractive_ , but he’s also an _asshole_!”

“Okay...? So are you?”

“You’re not helping.”

“I don’t understand the issue.” There was rustling, as if Raven was settling into her couch. “You’ve realized Bellamy isn’t that bad and you’re not sure what to do about it?”

Clarke scowled. “I’ve realized that Bellamy isn’t the worst person in the world and I’m angry about it.”

“Well, I’m glad we’re talking feelings, that’s a good first step. Why does it make you angry? I’m your therapist now, pay me exponentially for my time.”

But Clarke didn’t know why it made her angry. Not being at each other’s throats all the time would be a welcome change—wouldn’t it? “I just know that I am, Raven, not how.”

“Out of context? That would sound really deep.” She cleared her throat. “Do you want to know why you’re freaking out?”

“...Yeah.”

“You’re terrified of the slightest change, you always have to be right, and you’re afraid Bellamy isn’t going to feel the same.”

Clarke didn’t know how to respond. “Maybe I should be paying you.”

Raven sighed. “I know. Let’s save the unboxing for later, just try to digest the raw details for now. Okay?”

“Okay. Thanks Rae.”

“You’re welcome. I’ll be expecting a great Christmas present.”

“I’m not your secret santa.” Clarke said, confused.

“Oh, right.” Raven laughed. “How could I have forgotten?”

***

Clarke did her best not to get too much into her own head the rest of the day, but it was fucking hard. She wanted to text Bellamy to thank him for last night, but they didn’t do that. Their last messages consisted of him asking if the group was meeting at nine and her saying yes—a year ago. Did she suddenly want to be friends with Bellamy? Was she already friends with him? If so, did she actually want to start putting effort into the relationship?

Around two, her phone rang, Niylah’s face lighting up the screen. “Hey. Are you busy today?”

Clarke was practically crawling out her skin being cooped up in her apartment, she’d jump at any chance to do something else. “Not at all. What did you have in mind?”

“Octavia wants to go out for dinner later, but we really need someone to watch Romeo. Would you mind—? It would just be for a few hours.”

Romeo—an adorable Great Dane puppy—had recently been adopted by Niylah and Octavia, and was known for getting himself into trouble when he was alone. Clarke loved him more than she loved herself, probably. “I’d be happy to look after Romeo. What time are you wanting to go?”

“Like, five? I’m not sure exactly how long we’ll be but definitely before ten.”

They chatted for a while longer, confirmed that Clarke would be arriving at their house before five, and hung up. Clarke’s mood was boosted instantly, now not only was she out of the house, but she would be occupied too.

She wouldn’t even have time to think about Bellamy.

***

Unfortunately, not only was she being punished with the existence of this change of heart, but also the inability to escape it.

When she arrived, ready to have a lovely evening that required no social skills, somehow Bellamy was arriving as well.

“Hey,” he said as he stepped out of his Jeep, the confusion on his face matching her own. “What are you doing here?”

“Niylah asked me to babysit Romeo, what are you doing here?” She sounded a little more accusational than she intended, but she was having a rough day.

“Octavia asked _me_ to babysit Romeo. That’s weird. Why would they—?”

At that moment, the door opened to reveal the pair in question ready for their evening out. Neither one of them looked surprised to see two babysitters standing in their driveway, which made Clarke’s already bitter mood sour considerably.

Niylah, a terrible liar, glanced between the two of them, feigning confusion. “Octavia, did you—?”

Octavia sighed. “I see what happened. You called—“

“And _you_ called—“ Niylah agreed.

“And now they’re _both_ —“

“But—it isn’t really a problem.” Niylah looked at Bellamy, then Clarke. “An extra pair of hands never hurt, right?”

Octavia smacked her lips against Niylah’s cheek. “You’re absolutely right. You two—“ she turned back to them. “—enjoy yourselves. There’s plenty of food and plenty of movies. Bye, bye!”

The couple strutted off to their suburban, laughing and chatting as if the previous conversation had been completely normal.

Bellamy was already walking towards the door. “I call dibs on not picking up any shit.”

She scowled, this was going to be a long evening.

***

“That’s just not the way to throw a ball!” Bellamy exclaimed. After three hours of disagreeing inside the house, they decided to go outside, but things didn’t seem to be looking up.

Clarke threw her arms up, allowing the ball to drop from her hand, which Romeo happily pounced on. “How the fuck else are you supposed to throw it?”

Bellamy shook head, fighting the ball from Romeo’s mouth. “You’ve gotta hype him up first. Really make him want it—he might even pee a little. Then, when he’s barely holding himself together, you launch that sucker so far you can’t even tell where it went.”

Clarke was unimpressed. “For a second there, that almost sounded like dating advice.”

What happened next was— _unnerving_ , to say the least. Bellamy, who by all evidence hated her, threw back his head, and laughed. She was thrown completely off guard—Bellamy had never laughed like that, unless it was at her expense of course. She didn’t know what to do, was she supposed to join in? Should she simply wait for him to finish?

Finally, driven by fear and maybe the slightest bit of confidence, she scooped up a handful of snow, and pelted it directly into his abdomen.

For a moment she was worried she had started a war, and by the gaze he threw her way, she was correct.

“Oh, it’s _on_ , Griffin.” He paused, letting the moment simmer. But suddenly he began throwing snowballs in wild succession, one after the other, like nothing she had ever seen. Her competitiveness drive was immediately outmatched by her need to survive, and soon she too was dashing around the yard, grabbing snow in between every step and firing it without mercy.

One considerably merciless snowball smashed into Bellamy’s neck, freezing him in his spot.

The apology was on the tip of her tongue, when he shook his head, smiling in disbelief. “What if that had hit my eye!”

He launched himself towards her, tackling her to the ground with such grace she almost couldn’t even be mad. He aggressively rubbed her scarf into her face, “What would you have done? I didn’t realize _blinding_ the other was the name of the game!” But he was laughing too hard to feign any real anger.

Her stomach was cramping from wheezing, and she had given up on trying to stop his assault on her nose, but eventually he stopped on his own. Now, without the fake anger to distract her, she realized he was laying on top of her, his whole body lining up perfectly with her own.

Something had replaced the laughter in his eyes, something darker and something that caused her stomach to clench. Her heart—which had already been outdoing itself due to excursion—was pumping so loudly she was sure she wasn’t the only one who could hear it.

He wet his lips. “Clarke—“

Romeo power drove his nose into Bellamy’s side, knocking him off Clarke and climbing onto his chest.

She could barely think past getting up and brushing the snow off her coat. _Bellamy_ _almost_ _kissed_ _me_ , _Bellamy_ _almost_ _kissed_ _me_ , _Bellamy_ _almost_ _kissed_ _me_.

Her mind acted like a broken record, long after she had gone inside and warmed up. She made hot chocolate, trying to distract herself with mini marshmallows and whipped cream, but as soon as Bellamy waltzed himself into the kitchen—she could barely focus on staying upright.

He set his mitts down on the counter, resting his palms against the edge. “Clarke, we should probably talk about—“

“Woah!” Octavia cried, stepping into the doorway. “They haven’t murdered each other yet, Niylah! You owe me ten bucks!”

Bellamy sighed, gulping down a mouthful of hot chocolate. “We didn’t want to get blood all over your new paint job.”

Octavia dipped her head in approval. “How considerate of you.”

Niylah made her way into the kitchen as well, glancing around. “Well? Where’s Romeo?”

Clarke and Bellamy both jumped, the puppy slipping their minds in the midst of the near lip collision. “He’s uh—he’s just outside.” Bellamy said, rushing out to grab him.

Octavia turned to Clarke. “So everything really went ok?”

Clarke smiled and nodded, hiding behind her mug. “You know how we are, it could have gone better.”

_Yeah_ , Clarke thought, _and_ _it_ _could_ have _gone_ _a_ _whole_ _lot_ _worse_ , _too_. 

***

“Yeah, mom, I’m at terminal nine, I don’t know what is so hard to understand—you see me? Well, fantastic! It’s about time. No, I didn’t drink on the plane, yes, I slept. Can we hang up now?”

Abby Griffin pocketed her cell phone and threw her arms around her daughter. Christmas was less than a week away, and Clarke always spent that week with her parents.

“Hi, mom. Did Marcus come?” It had taken Clarke a long time to come to terms with her parents remarrying, but once she had, it was easy to fall into a rhythm.

She called her parents once a week, sometimes separately, sometimes together. She decided that their happiness was more important than her fear of chance, and they’ve been a happy little blended family ever since.

Abby smiled at the mention of her husband. “Not this time, he was still baking when I left.”

The topic of food got them all the way home, and into the kitchen, where Clarke greeted Marcus. “Merry Christmas!”

Marcus smiled, pulling her into a one armed hug. “Merry Christmas. How was your flight?”

Clarke sighed wearily. “Long. And they had terrible sandwich choices.”

“How distasteful of them—“ he dropped a cookie into her palm when Abby wasn’t looking. “—hopefully this will get you to dinner.”

They exchanged a secret smile, and Clarke scurried off to her room before Abby could catch on.

“Marcus, I can clearly see there should be a cookie there.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Why would you have three rows of five, and then a row of four?”

She could hear Marcus sniff indignantly. “For individuality, Abby.”

Clarke could barely muffle her giggle as she tip toed down the hall.

***

“How’s Bellamy?” Jake asked, as if this was a completely normal way to start a conversation. He and his wife always came over for dinner before Christmas, and he and Clarke were in the sitting area while Ella and Marcus made pasta.

Clarke nearly choked on her champagne. “Sorry, who?”

It had been a week since their encounter, and Clarke hadn’t thought about it since then. Tension was high, they got caught up in the moment, and nothing had ended up happening anyway. There was no point in overthinking something that clearly wasn’t meant to happen.

Her dad laughed. “Bellamy? The one you’re constantly going on and on about? You have nothing new to report?”

“Nope!” Clarke shook her head violently. “Nothing new. Same old. You know.”

And just when it seemed Jake was about to let it go, Abby flitted into the room. “I’ve seen that he’s been all your Instagram lately.”

Clarke visibly shuddered. “Please, don’t refer to my social media. It’s wildly shell shocking.”

Abby rolled her eyes, not letting the statement derail her point. “You might think you’re complaining about his antics, but you always sound so fond on the phone. Doesn’t she, Jake?”

“ _So_ fond.” Jake agreed.

“What is this?” Clarke narrowed her eyes, pointing between the pair. “Now that you’ve both found love, you’re after me, too?”

Jake shook his head. “I think you’ve already found it, darling.”

“Ew! Gross!” She was aware she sounded like a preteen who still thought boys had cuties. Whatever. “I could never—I _would_ never—be like that with Bellamy. Of all people!”

The subject was dropped, but now the sentiment had been drilled into her head. Could she see Bellamy that way? More importantly, could Bellamy see her that way?

***

She flew home the morning of Christmas Eve, that of which she spent with her friends each year. Normally, this was her favourite part of the holiday, but her dread over seeing Bellamy again was growing; she had rewrapped his present at least eight times.

Should she act like nothing happened? Technically, nothing had, but something almost did, something she had never ever pictured doing with Bellamy. And what about her mother had said? Did she really sound fond of Bellamy?

“I always knew this holiday sucked,” she muttered, aggressively tearing at the wrapping paper.

By seven, she was in her ugliest Christmas sweater, on her way to Bellamy’s. He was hosting Christmas Eve this year, where they opened their secret santa presents and ate dinner.

Her nerves were practically tearing her insides apart by the time she got to his door, it took everything in her just to knock.

Thank god, it was Octavia who opened the door, not Bellamy.

“Hi!” They both squealed, embracing each other like it had been years, not days.

“Your sweater? Makes noise?” Octavia said, staring at the literal bells adorning Clarke’s sweater.

“You expect to win without it?”

Octavia raised her eyebrows. “We’ve gotten extra catty this year, huh? Funny, given how you haven’t won in three years.”

Clarke smiled, diplomatic. “That’s because I didn’t have noise.”

“Ugh.” Octavia groaned. “Get in here before I tell Bell to revoke your invite.”

Clarke opened her mouth, but it wasn’t her who spoke next. “You act like I’ll kick Clarke out because of something she did to you.” Bellamy stepped out of the kitchen, leaning his shoulder on the door frame. “I can think of much better reasons than that.”

Clarke gulped, smiling lamely and stepping past Octavia, distracting herself with toeing off her shoes.

When she had run out of excuses not to look at him, she asked what she could do to help. His smile faltered for a moment, but then gestured her into the kitchen.

He jerked his chin toward the table, before resuming cutting some potatoes. “You can finish the centre piece, if you want.”

His tone showed no emotion, gave nothing away—just like it always had. She inhaled, letting her throat burn for a moment before busying herself with the pine boughs and cranberry branches.

The radio was playing softly, and she could hear Bellamy faintly humming along, which did not help her predicament whatsoever. His voice was like fucking honey or something.

After an hour, the rest of their friends had slowly trickled in, taking their spots at the table, filling the space with noise and warmth.

When they had finished eating, Bellamy stood from his spot at the table, raising his glass.

“Oh, hear we go.” Raven muttered, but purposely loud so everyone would hear.

Bellamy rolled his eyes, but continued. “I know this is dumb, and cheesy, and you’re all going to give me shit for this later, but—I want to propose a toast. It’s been a long year; we’ve lost and gained friends, and I simultaneously feel like I’ve barely seen you and spent too much time with you.”

They all laughed, and Bellamy paused. He glanced her way, and it felt like he was looking right through her, into her mind and reading all her thoughts. “But most of all, this year I’ve had some fuck-tastic revelations. Maybe some of you know, maybe some of you will eventually—there’s nothing more important to me than family, and that’s what I consider all of you.”

Bellamy was staring at his plate, and Clarke was expecting her friends to boo, throw something and defuse the tension—but they were all silent.

Suddenly, Bellamy looked up, half laughing half choking. “Now, before Miller gets all choked up—cheers.”

“Cheers. Cheers.” The small chorus filled the room, and the moment was finished.

“Let the games begin!” Octavia shouted, standing and pounding her brother on the back.

Luna ended up winning the ugly sweater contest, having patched a multitude of them together to make one colossal eye sore. Raven won the best gingerbread house, given she refused to follow instructions and used things that were _not_ in the box.

Halfway through the evening, Miller and Monty got caught under the mistletoe, and happily began to make out.

Finally, it was time for the gift exchange.

They all gathered around the living room, and somehow Clarke ended up sitting right next to Bellamy on the couch, which only made her more nervous.

Luna received a vegan leather jacket from Monty, Monty opened a child’s advanced chemistry set from Octavia, Octavia was given a beautiful butterfly necklace from Miller, Miller got the new COD game from Raven, Raven opened prosthetic paints from Niylah, and Niylah received a large house plant from Luna.

Now, it was Clarke’s turn. Eyes closed, she held out her hands, and was given a large box. It was heavy enough that she nearly dropped it, before setting it on her lap.

She ran her hands over it once, before greedily tearing into the paper. Inside, she found a professional painting easel, completely with built in brush and paint compartments.

“Bellamy,” She breathed. “This is over budget.”

He just shook his head. “First of all, can’t you just be thankful, secondly—how do you know it’s from me?”

She couldn’t take her eyes off the gift. “Process of elimination, dumbass.”

“Still waiting for that thank you,” He sang, poking her arm.

She hugged the box to her chest. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” He rubbed his hands together, a grin widening his face. “Now, it’s my turn.”

Bellamy closed his eyes, and suddenly Clarke was confident in her purchase. If he knew her well enough to buy her something that she had been wanting for ages, surely she would do just as well on his gift. Miller handed Bellamy the box, who took an obnoxious amount of time feeling it, trying in vain to guess what it was.

“Bellamy, I will not hesitate to throw my leg at you.” Raven threatened, and he simply stuck out his tongue, taking his time as not to rip the paper.

“Over budget my ass,” He muttered, pulling the package from the wrapping.

In his hands was an old fashioned Polaroid camera, which she had combed through multiple thrift stores to find.

She bumped his shoulder with her own. “Now you can take your photos, and see them without posting them.”

He looked at her in awe. “Thank you, Clarke.”

She felt a flush creep up her neck, and she finally had to look away from his intense gaze. “Not a problem.”

Carefully, he set the camera back in its box, and looked around the room. “Thank you all for coming, it’s been fun, now get out.”

Miller immediately sprung from his seat. “No dish duty? Sounds good to me. Let’s go, Monty.”

Clarke was about to stand as well, when Bellamy put his hand on her knee to stop her. “Would you mind waiting a bit?”

His mouth was so close to her ear, a shiver went down her spine. She forced herself to recover and nod, even if it was tight. He smiled, pausing before rising to see his guests to the door.

It felt strange waiting on the couch, so she darted into the kitchen, picking up a plate and beginning to wash it.

She was almost finished when the door finally clicked closed, and Bellamy appeared in the doorway. She was too nervous to look at him, so she pretended to be engrossed with the dish she was scrubbing.

He came closer, and still she didn’t look. “I didn’t ask you to stay so you could clean.”

She shrugged. “It’s the least I can do.”

“Is it now.” There was laughter in his tone. He took the plate from her hands, but she simply swiped up a dishcloth and began wiping down the counters.

“You must be nervous.” He observed, as she viciously scrubbed at the nonexistent grime covering the island. “I just wanted to thank you again for my present.”

She gulped. “It was no problem—your gift was good, too.”

But Bellamy wasn’t put off by her behaviour, if anything, it only spurred him on. “Ok, maybe there’s something more I wanted to talk to you about.”

“I’m all ears!” She said, and immediately wanted to smack herself in the face.

He reclaimed the dishrag as well, and she was finally forced to look at him. “If you scrub any harder, you’re going to wear a hole in my counter.”

Her smile was meek. “Sorry.”

He was so close, her body moved backwards without her consent, but he simply filled the space again. “I think we should discuss what happened last week.”

She stepped backwards again. “What happened last week?”

His smile was slow, and he followed her steps once more. “We almost kissed.”

The words were shocking to hear, especially coming from his mouth. She can’t believe she’d thought he’d let it go. “Almost being the operative word.”

“Really? Because I think kissed should be the one we focus on.”

“That’s an interesting point of view.” She said, as her back hit the wall. She had nowhere else to go, but really, it’s not like there was anywhere else she’d rather be.

“Clarke.” The laughter in his eyes had been replaced with near desperation. He was so close, if his breaths had been any deeper their chests would brush. “I think you know why I asked you to stay.”

“I really don’t.” Was he trying to embarrass her? Was this some stunt that one of heir friends had put him up to?

He looked to the ceiling, then back at her, and the emotion in his eyes had changed once again. Something soft, something fond was staring at her, and she suddenly could barely breathe.

“Maybe I’m projecting, maybe you didn’t buy me my gift for the same reasons I bought you yours, but—I’ve been hoping for this for a long time, Clarke.”

He inhaled, settling his gaze against her own. “I saw the way you looked at me at your party, I saw the way you looked at me with Romeo, and I can see the way you’re looking at me now.”

She opened her mouth, whether to refute or agree she wasn’t sure, but no words came out. He must have taken that as his answer, because his face fell, he began to step away—

“Wait,” she caught his hand, and he stopped, waiting for her to fill the silence.

Her smile was slow, and when she looked above her head, he followed her gaze.

“We _are_ under the mistletoe.” She tugged him a little closer, his own smile beginning to widen. “It would be a shame to break tradition.”

“It would, wouldn’t it.” His hands already slipping under her sweater.

She rose up on her toes, pushing her hands into his hair and pressing her lips to his. His fingertips skinned along her stomach, raising goosebumps in their wake.

He tasted like mint, and it was like every single one of her senses had gone into overdrive—she was barely staying conscious. His hips nudged hers, and she moved backwards, against the wall once more, only this time Bellamy’s body was flush against her own.

“Uh,” He pulled back, frowning. “Your sweater is—not only making incessant noise, but it’s also hurting me.”

She laughed, and didn’t break eye contact as she grabbed the hem, lifted it over her head, and threw it to the side. She raised her eyebrows, “Better?”

“Oh,” He half moaned. “Much, _much_ better.”

She giggled, and he kissed her again. She raked her hands along his back, feeling the firm muscle waiting for her there. He grinned into the kiss, and now it was her turn to pull back.

“A long time, huh?” She wiggles her brows. “Do you wanna expand on that?”

“No. Shut up.” And he covered her mouth with his.

***

_One_ _year_ _later_

“Do you think we would have ended up together if we hadn’t happened to have gotten each other for secret santa?”

Bellamy paused his table setting, truly thinking about the question. “I’d like to think we would have figured it out on our own. But we didn’t just happen to pick each other’s names—Octavia set that up.”

Clarke was astounded. “I can’t believe it. Octavia? Meddling? That doesn’t sound like her at all.”

He laughed, grabbing her hand and tugging her closer. “I was shocked, too. I don’t know who raised her.”

“I think it’s the same person who has, once again, placed us perfectly and directly under the mistletoe.”

He looked up, feigning surprise. “I don’t know how this keeps happening.”

“No, me neither,” she agreed, already leaning in.

Personally, she thought they would have found each other, with or without meddling. But she supposed a little push now and then never hurt. 


End file.
